


Speak My Language

by jesusonaunicycle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One-Shot, Post Camlann, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesusonaunicycle/pseuds/jesusonaunicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has trouble reconciling the fact that Merlin is both his best friend, and a sorcerer. And maybe something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak My Language

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, guys! For my New Years resolution I will post more often and actually finish fics! Let's see how that one goes. 
> 
> So, here, have an angsty Merlin and Arthur fic that I wrote at one in the morning and hopefully isn't too bad. c: Post-Camlann, Arthur doesn't die because Merlin saves him, and Arthur is a bit of a sap. Hope you guys enjoy!

“Fine, then!” Arthur spat, spinning on his heel to glare directly into Merlin’s face. His servant--his _friend_ \--had fruitlessly tried to talk to Arthur about his magic, trying to justify himself and his actions. It had taken a night and most of the following day of his constant explanations to crack Arthur, who had grit his teeth against the physical pain in his abdomen and the emotional pain in his heart. He couldn’t let Merlin know that, though. No one ever could know how his heart fared, especially when those feelings threatened to conquer rational thought.

Merlin stared back at Arthur, unflinching from his snarl. Instead, he just looked unbearably distraught; his stormy blue eyes were wide and glossy with sadness and unshed tears, his lips bitten red and raw, his face drastically pale under the dirty streaks that were presumably left from his tears. Merlin’s despair confused Arthur. Merlin was a _sorcerer,_ he should have run to the hills as soon as Arthur found out. Actually, no, Merlin should have killed Arthur while he had the chance. He shouldn’t still be trailing after Arthur, offering weak explanations and apologies, pleading with him to just listen, to hear him out. What’s more, Arthur should be arresting him, or, even better, executing him.

But Arthur could never hurt Merlin, not intentionally. Not even after Merlin outed himself as a sorcerer. Not even after he admitted to being one all along. He couldn’t even think of harming his best friend--sometimes his only friend. And if Arthur analyzed it even more, he’d realize that Merlin wasn’t just a friend. But his heart ripped itself apart at the thought, because now there was just another barrier between them, another reason why Arthur could never act on his feelings. Just another casualty of being king.

“Fine, what?” Merlin asked weakly, startling Arthur out of his thoughts. Those blue eyes searched his own, still overwhelmingly sorrowful, but the damage was done. A light shone in Merlin’s eyes, one that caught Arthur’s breath. Hope.

Arthur took a moment to step back. If he stood too close, his resolve would crumble and he’d do something he’d regret, like pull Merlin into his arms and cry into his shoulder. “Fine,” Arthur repeated, albeit a bit breathlessly. “Show me,” he said, determination steeling his voice. The request startled even Arthur himself.

Merlin’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Show you what?” he asked, and if Merlin hadn’t admitted to lying for the entire time he knew Arthur, Arthur would have believed that he was actually bemused.

“Don’t act like that, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, impatience and hurt making his words sharp. “I know you’re not a fool. Show me how _benign_ magic can be, then.” He said, wiggling his fingers to make his point. For a moment, Merlin looked like he was about to burst into laughter--or tears, whichever was equally likely at that point. Both of them hadn’t been able to sleep for about forty-eight hours.

“You want me to _show_ you?” Merlin asked incredulously, his eyes near bugging out of his skull. Any other time, Arthur would have thought it was comical.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Arthur said, “Obviously, Merlin.” His words were colored exasperatedly, like he used to talk to Merlin before Camlann. Like he used to talk to Merlin before he noticed Merlin not smiling for days on end. And Arthur did notice, he noticed every change; he just didn’t understand why. True, he’d had inklings to what may have caused Merlin’s moods, but never concrete knowledge. He’d wanted to know, though. He just never thought it was proper to ask.

Merlin didn’t dare ask again. He nodded frantically, looking down at his wringing hands and carefully extracting them from each other. In a split second, the unsure, bumbling Merlin that Arthur knew and loved disappeared. In his wake, another Merlin emerged. Merlin the sorcerer, a calm, collected Merlin that very rarely stumbled or faltered, replaced his servant. In that moment, Merlin’s expression cleared to reveal mountain-moving determination, and his stormy blue eyes lit up molten gold. The sight took Arthur’s breath away. With a whispered word, an ethereally blue butterfly materialized in the space between Merlin’s upturned hands. The small, fragile creature fluttered from its creator and toward Arthur, swirling near Arthur’s eyes and then taking flight above his head. Entranced, Arthur shifted to follow the butterfly’s path with his eyes, but when he turned around, the insect was gone.

Both men were silent for a long time. Arthur continued to stare off into the darkening forest, his back to Merlin. Every instinct in Arthur begged him to turn around, for his father’s voice strictly said in his head, _“A man never turns his back on his enemy, Arthur. It is a sign of weakness. Do not give any man an opportunity to kill you, because they will always take it.”_

But Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t his enemy. Merlin was his friend, his bloody servant, for God’s sake. Absently, Arthur touched the wound on his abdomen, the sword entry that should have killed him. He knew that the wound now would be little more than a minor injury, a scratch he could have gotten on the training field. He knew firsthand the enormity of Merlin’s power. To see him effortlessly conjure life, and then whisk it away, was mesmerizing. And also completely, utterly terrifying.

“Arthur?” Merlin murmured, his voice hesitant and questioning. He sounded much nearer than he was when a few moments before, and the proximity made Arthur twitch. His nerves were aflame, urging him to turn around and eradicate the origin of his unease, but his heart rooted him to the ground. He fought to hold onto the trust he had in Merlin, the trust he thought he still had.

“Merlin.” Arthur replied, his voice choked. He cleared his throat to rid himself of the lump that had formed, but it did nothing to soothe. If anything, it made it worse.

A gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder made him visibly flinch, but the hand did not move. “Arthur,” Merlin tried again, this time much closer to Arthur’s ear. “Arthur, please. Please listen to me.”

Slowly, Arthur took a deep breath and turned to face Merlin. Merlin’s face was again soaked with tears. Unable to face another tearful Merlin, Arthur quirked a tiny smile and carefully wiped away a wayward teardrop.

“What did I say, Merlin? No man is worth your tears,” he said, letting his hand linger on Merlin's cheek.  “Not even me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated!! c:


End file.
